Dark Whispers
by Jerathai
Summary: Parker Selfridge may well wish he'd never boarded the Venture Star on its way back to Earth...
1. Dark Whispers

Light years away from the place where Jake Sully looked up at Pandora's moons and worried, a recorded message was playing in a very private office.

"Augustine was going off about some conscious global network like she was high on some freaking shit, and Quaritch pulled a goddamn palace coup on me. He took every friggin miner that could walk a straight line, flew em all out to this Tree of Souls place and got them all incinerated. I had over a thousand ten foot tall blue monkeys pointing five foot long freaking arrows at me and not enough personnel left to anywhere near fill a single ISV, and not a damn one who knew how to throw a rock, for Christ's sake. They chased us out of Hell's Gate without breaking a sweat. That marine, Sully, he's the monkeys' king now. I don't know where the hell Augustine is. Friggin tree-huggers. You can bet the rent that they're going to trash the installation, or let it rot back into the jungle."

On the screen, Parker Selfridge looked up at an urgent call from a cryo-tech, "Yeah, yeah, keep your goddamn shirt on, I'm coming." He looked back into the comm-unit. "I'm putting everything I've got into the Venture Star's memory banks, but it's not much, there wasn't time to grab half the stuff before they kicked us out. You should be able to download it remotely. I'll report in as soon as I get there, Selfridge out." The screen went black.

A calloused hand gently reached out and shut off the comm-unit. A ring sporting two welded chain links decorated the third finger. "You disappoint me, Mister Selfridge," a whispery voice stated reflectively. "Your lack of ability to capitalize on an unexpected opportunity is most disturbing." An attendant standing nearby stiffened imperceptibly at the expression of disapproval, but the voice continued in an almost genial tone. "Apparently, his abilities and potential were overstated to us. That is most unfortunate."

The hand rose and made a steeple of fingers as its mate rose to join it. "The Avatar program is much more than it seems, and if Mister Selfridge has caused Doctor Augustine to be lost the board will be most - displeased - with him. If he was so foolish as to let his own hound bite him, then his is no great loss." A tone of amusement momentarily colored the speaker's words. "Of course, our hounds are well trained to bite hard."

The owner of the whispery voice focused his eyes on the attendant standing at parade-rest near the door and the amusement faded. "Quaritch was fortunate to find his death so easily. An incompetent is easily demoted, but a failure is unredeemable. A pity the Colonel has made himself unavailable for that lesson – for the moment."

The door guard was a veteran of many months on this duty and had seen and heard many things, most of which would have normal men on the floor retching their guts out in horror. The silky tones of his superior had raised the hairs on the back of his neck like few things ever did. He hoped that the sweat which had broken out under his collar didn't show.

The whisperer continued, "Apparently this Corporal Sully is much more adept than anyone anticipated. It is possible that he may be more useful to us than we suspected. I want to know everything there is to know about Jake Sully. Have every record that exists on the man on my desk within the week. And call an immediate meeting of the full Board, Robert."

The door guard was certain he'd misheard. The last time a full meeting had been called…. "The full Board, sir?" The words echoed in the spacious office as if spoken in a tomb.

The whispery voice confirmed. "The full Board, Robert. We have - a situation to discuss."


	2. Plans Within Plans

Eight individuals sat around an antique black walnut conference table. The table was notable mostly because the last black walnut tree had been dead for over a hundred years.

"We have four ISVs loaded with unobtanium that are inbound. So we have five years of breathing space before our supply is interrupted. We have our existing stockpiles to augment that," the man with the whispery voice summarized.

A strikingly beautiful Latin woman with black hair piled high on her head commented with amusement, "As good an excuse as any to raise our prices."

He inclined his head slightly and continued. "The two ISVs nearest Pandora were informed that they would be allowed refuels on humanitarian grounds, but that they were not to bring any passengers out of cryo – and that they would not be bringing back any unobtanium. The captains of the two ISVs nearest Earth were told to turn around, that there would be no refuel for them – and they have done so."

The short blond man sitting at the far end of the table growled, "Kill them as soon as they return. They're supposed to take orders from no one but us."

A woman in a scientist's white lab coat disagreed. "People capable of captaining an ISV are rare. Kill them and you not only give us a smaller talent pool, you discourage those who have the capability from being willing to sign on with us."

The whisperer sided with the scientist. "I am in agreement with Mary. A heavy fine should accomplish the needed chastisement without jeopardizing our personnel supply."

The thin brown haired man sitting to the whisperer's left inquired, "Is this all the information we have? Was Selfridge unable to send anything useful? Is he dead?"

"Not dead, but what he sent was quite limited. He seems to have been somewhat – ineffective."

The Latin woman's face showed a brief flash of offense. She'd been the one to recommend Selfridge for the position at Hell's Gate, and that statement did not reflect well on her. "We need more information. We don't have anywhere near enough data to be drawing conclusions at this point."

The whisperer waved a conciliatory hand, "An entirely valid point. I'll have a virus inserted into the Venture Nova's computer system. When it enters Pandora orbit in a few months the virus will infect the Hell's Gate infrastructure and gather all the information it can find. In a year and a half we'll have a much better idea of where things stand."

The blond man growled, "We should load every mercenary we have on the ISV that's in orbit now and send them to wipe out every living thing at Hell's Gate."

"Inadvisable," brown hair disagreed. "We don't know what we'd be sending them into. If SecOps was taken out so thoroughly that we've lost the installation we need to know how to outfit a strike force to minimize the chance of a second defeat." He turned to the whisperer. "I recommend that we send a limited strike force – primarily intel. A black ops unit can capitalize on any opportunity to inflict damage while getting us the information we need for a decisive retake of the facility."

The scientist spoke up dryly, "Not to mention that if you send every mercenary we have you'll exhaust our forces. If they get shot down, we'll have nothing else left to send." She turned her attention to the other directors. "We need to start recruiting, immediately."

The whisperer agreed, "Get on it." He turned to the Latin woman, "I'm sure you can manufacture reasons for some guerillas to take offense at local governments." She nodded in agreement, and he turned back to the scientist, "The skirmishes will shake out anyone worth recruiting. Be ready to make them the standard offer when you find them."

Lab coat nodded in amusement.

"I think that's about all we can do until we have further information. Let's adjourn for now," the whisperer suggested. He gave brown hair a brief glance as the meeting broke up.

The two men strode unhurriedly down the hall and entered the opulent office at the end. They waited until the faithful Robert had secured the door before speaking.

"So. What do you really think?" brown hair inquired.

The whisperer chuckled, "Much more than our shortsighted colleagues would be able to appreciate at the moment."

Brown hair raised an eyebrow.

"Unobtanium is only the latest 'priceless commodity.' It will not be the last. We must be alert to – and poised to take advantage of – the 'next big thing,'" he explained.

Brown hair's second eyebrow joined the first. "And you believe that this Jake Sully may have found this 'next big thing'?"

The whisperer waved a disparaging hand. "Possibly. Remember what Selfridge said. 'A global conscious network.' Imagine everyone on a planet connected to such a network. Imagine being able to control it…,"

A thoughtful look came over his fellow director's face. "So how would you convince Sully to turn it over?"

The RDA CEO smiled. "There are usually three reasons why a man will turn. Most often, the reason is that he got a better offer. The solution to that problem is to make him a better offer than the competition did."

A black scowl came over brown hair's face. "If our competitors got to him…."

The whisperer confirmed, "Then the force that took out SecOps might not be natives at all. Or the natives may only have been a front. An expendable front."

The director responded, "And sending every mercenary we have now could well be sending them into a trap which would weaken us enough for our competitors to be able to take over Pandora completely. Wise to hold off. The second reason?"

The CEO walked around his desk and took his seat. "Principles. It's not likely, but once in a blue moon you get a man who simply decides to go his own way."

"And the solution?" his companion asked.

"Kill him," the CEO stated bluntly.

Brown hair nodded in agreement. "And the third reason a man turns?"

The whisperer steepled his fingers in front of him, displaying the two-link chain ring he wore. "The oldest reason known to mankind, my friend. A woman."

Brown hair's eyebrows rose again. "And the solution to that situation?"

The RDAs CEO responded with a single whispered word. "Hostages."


	3. Black Ops

The RDA's CEO finished the instructions he was writing and saved the document to a data stick on which a carefully selected computer virus already resided. He double-encrypted the device with specific hash codes; only the Venture Nova's computer would be able to decrypt the first level of encoding, and only the main Hell's Gate computer could decipher the second level. Any other computer that accessed the files would find only innocent accounting information.

The workstation beeped and ejected the data stick. The CEO shut down his computer terminal and waited until it went dark before pressing a button on his desk. His office door opened, and Brown Hair walked in.

The head of the RDA stood up and handed the data stick to his associate, "Here is the virus for Hell's Gate and the instructions for our sleeper agent aboard the Venture Nova. The head of the black ops unit is awaiting a final briefing in conference room C. I'd appreciate it if you could handle that personally. You can drop this off on your way there."

Brown Hair took the data stick and nodded gracefully.

The CEO returned to his desk. "What's the status of the in-orbit ISV?"

Brown Hair replied, "The Venture Pulsar's been offloaded and moved to drydock. Retrofitting can begin as soon as the schematics are finalized."

The man with the whispery voice frowned, "I don't want a rush job. We've got more than five years before Selfridge arrives. We'll have the information from the black ops team and the Hell's Gate virus to consider as well. I want absolute maximum possible firepower installed on that ship by the time it leaves here. I'd rather see Pandora destroyed than in the hands of our competitors. When the Venture Pulsar arrives in orbit twelve years from now that planet will be ours again or it will be rubble."

His associate bowed in acquiescence and took his leave. Brown Hair dropped the data stick off in the control center with instructions to transmit the contents to the Venture Nova, and proceeded to the conference rooms.

The individual who awaited him there was remarkably nondescript – muddy brown hair and eyes, medium skin tones, no scars or other marks, and a face that was neither pointed nor round. He was a man you could look directly at and then not be able to describe him thirty seconds later. All of which was quite useful if you were a covert operative. Colonel Aron was one of the best.

Brown Hair was quite certain that "Colonel Aron" had as many names as he had ways of killing. It didn't matter, as long as the job got done.

"You've been briefed?" the RDA director asked dryly.

Aron nodded and extended a hand that sported a two-link chain ring on it. "Got all the information you sent. Not much to go on. We've no idea why he turned, he just up and went native?"

The director ignored the outstretched hand and took a seat, "We don't know to what degree the natives have accepted him. He's an avatar driver, and to all accounts they weren't on friendly terms with anyone but Augustine. We don't know what's happened to her."

The Colonel dropped his hand and gave his superior a sideways look, "We're to take her into custody if we find her?"

Brown Hair confirmed, "She's very valuable to us. Protective custody – by force if necessary, but don't harm her."

The operative summarized, "But Sully is a target?"

The director waggled his hand in a yea-nay gesture. "Potentially. He may be sitting on something of enormous value. It could be he's waiting for an offer. If he is, negotiate. Offer him whatever he wants, but don't make it too easy."

A very nasty grin creased Aron's face. "And when we've got what we want?"

Brown Hair summarized, "Your primary objective is to get the information we need in order to retake Hell's Gate. Take it only if you can do so successfully and be able to hold it until we can send reinforcements. Secondary objective is to get the intel on whatever Sully may be sitting on. Acquire control of it if you can. After you achieve those objectives, we really don't care what happens to Corporal Sully."

The director sounded bored, "Your ship will contain a delegation that's been instructed to carry out negotiations with Sully and the natives for a peaceful return of the facility to RDA control. That's your cover. You and your men will be awakened from cryo before the negotiators and will be dropped on the planet without their knowledge. Any questions?"

Aron had a self-satisfied smile on his face, "No sir."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: After posting Ch 3 "Black Ops," I've decided to roll this into my main story line, "Clouds on the Horizon." It's getting too involved to be a standalone fic, it'll be easier for me to coordinate timing / timelines, and it really belongs in "Clouds" anyway. :)


End file.
